


Lens Reflex

by BleedingTypewriter



Series: Keithtober 2019 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ain't no thang ladies do yo thang, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Camboy Keith (Voltron), Camboy Roleplay, Established Relationship, Former camboy Keith, Former sex worker Keith, Girls girls get that cash, Healthy sex work, If it's 9 to 5 or shakin yo ass, Just make sure you ahead of the game, Keith boned for money and he's not sorry, M/M, Past Sex Work, Sex Positive, Sex Work, Sex Work Roleplay, Top Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingTypewriter/pseuds/BleedingTypewriter
Summary: Keith isn’t ashamed of the fact that he’s gotten off on camera (and fucked, once or twice or eight times) for money. He’s just never seen the point in bringing it up until now.Third piece for Keithtober 2019. Prompt: "Free Day"___________As far as he’d been concerned, it was two birds with one stone: get some action (exchanged pictures or video chats or, for the right person and the right price, a decent hook-up) with minimal superfluous flirting, and be paid enough to keep his one-man search-and-rescue operation going.And the thing is, he’s not ashamed of it, he just doesn’t see the point in bringing it up, the same way he doesn’t see the point in bringing up most things about himself. No one has ever asked, and it’s not particularly anyone’s business, so he figures he’ll cross that bridge if and when he gets to it.He is, in retrospect, somewhat of a fool.





	Lens Reflex

**Author's Note:**

> If it’s not already obvious, I’m totally down for sex work as long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual. Sell your mind or sell your body, same difference to me. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Having said that, I get that others have differing opinions, or may be triggered by mentions of work of this kind. So be forewarned, this story takes a very sex positive stance on sex work. It is mentioned casually, and often.
> 
> Also, please note that the Garrison in this story can be assumed to be more of a college-age setting. So Keith would have been 18/19 while working.

Contrary to popular belief, Keith fucks. He may not be good with people, but he’s good with cock. After all, he’d had to find _ some _ way to earn a living while he was out there in the desert looking for Shiro; something flexible and quick that would allow him to pay for the basics. As far as he’d been concerned, it was two birds with one stone: get some action (exchanged pictures or video chats or, for the right person and the right price, a decent hook-up) with minimal superfluous flirting, and be paid enough to keep his one-man search-and-rescue operation going.

And the thing is, he’s not ashamed of it, he just doesn’t see the point in bringing it up, the same way he doesn’t see the point in bringing up most things about himself. No one has ever asked, and it’s not particularly anyone’s business, so he figures he’ll cross that bridge if and when he gets to it.

He is, in retrospect, somewhat of a fool.

They’re at a Garrison haunt, of all places, when it happens. There’s not much time for socialization while they wait for the galra to invade, but Shiro insists they make time now and again. “It’s important to remember that we’re more than just soldiers,” he says (though the way Adam squeezes his hand or makes these soft, gross googly eyes at him every time he says it has Keith wondering how much of it is really for the good of the team). So they’re in a dim pub, all of Voltron and Adam, nursing watery cocktails and talking about anything but warfare for once, when a man approaches and puts his drink on the table.

He’s youngish, maybe a couple years older than Keith (though he tries not to think too much about ages and older than or younger than – it tends to get confusing trying to figure in his time on the space whale and missing in the quintessence field), with green eyes and a smile that falls somewhere between charming and predatory. He’s cute, with his curly brown hair and his trim little waist, but he puts his drink down with a grin that says he knows very well it's not polite and it sets Keith's teeth on edge.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and something about the way he addresses Keith with barely a cursory glance at the rest of the table bothers Keith even more.

“Do I know you?”

“You could say that.”

Keith is not impressed, and he lets his face say so.

To the guy’s credit, his grin barely slips. “Okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, “I was just wondering if you still make arrangements, is all.”

And there’s something about the way he says _ that_, too; something about the innocent smile he tries to pull off afterward; something about the deliberate pause and his second glance at the others at the table.

“No,” he answers simply. “What gave you that impression?”

He falters, just for a second, and Keith takes the opportunity to lean into Lance. He wishes he could show off the hand on his thigh beneath the table, but Lance’s creeping over his shoulders is an okay replacement.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Shiro says from across the table, and offers his Altean hand to shake. It works: intimidation flashes for a second, and their guest doesn’t take the hand.

“I’m a former client,” he says, and picks up his drink as a belated excuse as Shiro lowers his arm, unimpressed.

And there’s something there, again. Something Keith is missing in the eagerness of his tone and smile. He knows who they are – everyone in the bar knows who they are; their group has been less than conspicuous since reaching Earth – but it doesn’t feel like the awkward starstruck bouncing they've encountered before.

“Client?” Lance asks, and the guy looks even giddier, and it finally hits Keith:

He’d banged this dude for a quick buck, and he expects him to be _ embarrassed _about it.

And he can’t help it:

He laughs.

The guy’s face falls a little, and Keith knows he’s right.

“I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, but you can fuck off,” he says, and takes a sip of his drink; squeezes Lance’s thigh beneath the table.

“So they know?”

“No. Would it make you feel better to tell them? By all means.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with that. “He, uh, used to cam. For money.”

Keith can’t help it:

He laughs again.

“I’ll bet that came out a lot stronger in your imagination while you were psyching yourself up to come over here.”

“I–”

“Besides, _ you _ paid for it, so why should I be the one bothered?”

He can feel Lance’s arm tight around his shoulders, feel his friends’ eyes on him, but Keith suddenly feels very aware of the fact that he’d traversed space and time with these people. He has trouble believing that _ this _ is the thing that’s going to tear them apart.

And Lance will understand. Loverboy Lance, with his half alien boyfriend, _ surely _ will understand.

Surely.

(He doesn’t let the _ '…right?' _ show on his face.)

“You…sold...?”

“Oh god, are you actually going for ‘sold your body’? So do you, apparently. Garrison pays a pretty penny for its soldiers.”

“That’s not–”

“I think it’s time to walk away,” Shiro cuts in, and his Altean arm is on the table again, and the scar across his nose is wrinkling in that way it does when he means business (and Adam is making those gross googly eyes at him).

It takes the poor guy a second, dumbfounded as he is, but he does just that, retreating across the bar to a group of people very specifically not looking their way.

“Keith–” It’s Shiro’s ‘everything is okay’ tone, and Keith really does _ not _ care to hear it when he already knows it's okay, thank you very much.

“I will field exactly four minutes of questions about this,” he announces, and fishes his phone from his pocket.

“You can’t be serious.”

He can be serious. He starts a timer and drops his phone on the table.

“When…I mean, how…?”

“During the year you were gone. Using the internet, mostly. Next?”

“What did you do?” Adam sounds genuinely interested.

Keith shrugs. “There are websites. Pictures, videos, that kind of thing. I met up a couple of times.”

Shiro’s scar goes a weird colour when his face gets red. Adam finds it adorable, but Keith finds it hilarious. “You…for money…?”

Keith takes another drink, and tries not to think about how quiet Lance has been. “I mean, and not for money, but yeah, sometimes. It beat picking up a day labour shift.”

“I’m sorry, is this considered wrong on Earth?” Allura asks, “Consorts were quite common on Altea. Some held very high rank.”

Adam practically coos at the shade of red his boyfriend goes.

“And you’re okay? I mean, you’re fine? I mean, you’re not…hurt, or anything?” Hunk stumbles over his question, one large finger tracing the rim of his glass, and sometimes Keith is still taken aback by just how sweet and selfless he can be.

“I’m _ fine _, Hunk. It was my choice. My rules. All things considered, it was a pretty good job.”

“I thought you weren’t good with people,” Pidge says.

Keith blinks at her. “You don’t have to be to—”

“Okay! Okay, I think that’s enough of that,” Shiro says, and taps the cancel button under the still-running timer with such force that Keith has to snatch it away before he cracks the screen. He looks a little faint, but he still offers Keith a little smile, so he’s pretty sure he’ll come around.

Adam and Pidge look absolutely tickled, Hunk a little awkward, Allura unaffected.

Lance’s arm is still tight around him; stiff. He smiles at Keith, but doesn’t say anything, and Lance staying silent is as good as a giant red sign declaring I AM NOT OKAY.

Keith pockets his phone, and finishes his drink, and wonders how badly this is going to fuck things up.

* * *

It does not, it turns out, fuck things up at all.

They call it a night relatively quickly after ‘the incident,’ and Lance is nearly mute the whole time. Even the cab ride back to the Garrison is quiet, Keith giving up after his, “Are you alright?” garners nothing more than a quiet, “Yeah, I’m good.”

They make it all the way back in that thick silence. Standing in the hallway between their quarters, Keith is actually starting to wonder if, for the first time in weeks, they’re going to split here and go back to their own rooms. Lance can’t even seem to _ look _ at him, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

“Lance, I’m sorry about tonight. I didn’t mean to…to keep it a secret, or anything like that. I don’t want secrets between us.”

That has Lance looking at him again. “No secrets, huh?” he murmurs, and swallows hard.

“Does it,” Keith crosses his arms; thinks better of it and mirrors Lance with his hands in his pockets, “Does it bother you that much?”

Lance’s tongue works in his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say. He purses his lips, opens them again, peeks out at Keith from under furrowed brows. It would be cute if it weren’t so nerve wracking.

Quietly, he settles on: “It doesn’t _ bother _ me. It, uh...I mean, I just don’t want you to think…I’m not _ objectifying _ you or anything…but it turns me on.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. He leans back; looks deeper into Lance’s face. “It turns you on.”

Suddenly Lance seems inflatable. He sags forward as he sighs, like the air in him is the only thing keeping him upright. “Not, like, the thought of you with other people. Just you...like _ that_. Taking what you want and being _ paid _ for it, because _ of course _ you could be...showing off _ on camera _ …in _ person _...”

He keeps talking, stumbling over his words, offering explanations inside justifications inside confessions, and just the fact that he’s rambling makes Keith feel better. Lance babbling is as good as a giant red sign declaring I AM FINE.

More important, though, is the way his unsure words have the muscles right below Keith’s sternum tensing involuntarily.

It turns him on.

It _ turns him on_.

And silly, over-concerned, selfless Lance thinks that would _ bother _ Keith, like he’d have done it in the first place if it hadn’t turned him on, too.

“Lance, shut up.”

To his credit, he shuts up, even if he does look supremely anxious about it.

“We’re going to do this properly,” Keith says. He pulls his hands from his pockets and puts them on Lance’s shoulders, but he’s not sure if it’s reassuring or not, given the way they’re shaking. He steps in closer; makes sure those apprehensive blue eyes stay on him. “We’re going to talk about it. But that’s going to be tomorrow. Tonight…”

He slides his hands down Lance’s arms, tugs at his wrists until they give and pull free from his pockets, guides the right one until it’s pressing against the front of his own jeans so Lance can feel how he’s already half hard. Indulgently, he holds the hand steady and grinds against it; watches the way the movement makes Lance’s mouth fall open.

“Tonight I want you to show me exactly what the thought of it does to you.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later finds Keith bent over Lance’s dresser, his boyfriend positively _ rutting _ into him from behind, his jaw held in a strong grip so he can’t escape the litany Lance is whispering into his ear.

“Bet you looked so fuckin’ good, spreading your legs on camera. Did you use toys?”

“Yes—_right fucking there, yeah_—I used toys. I’d moan their name if they tipped enough, right as I started fucking myself just right.” He pauses, and lets his spine arch just a little more, even though it has an ache settling in his lower back. “_Lance_…”

“_Shit_, bet you were a tease. Bet you’d make them beg for it, even after they paid. How much did you charge to watch you come all over yourself?”

The bottom of Keith’s cock is slapping against the dresser’s unforgiving veneer on every third or fourth thrust, but he doesn’t care. He finds himself watching the smears he leaves and hoping Lance doesn’t notice them. He hopes they’ll catch his eye in a day or two and make him hard; consume him with thoughts of all the ways his boyfriend knows how to work a man.

“Depends,” Keith answers, “On camera or while I rode them?”

Lance comes like it’s by surprise, pushing up against Keith so hard it has the edge of the dresser digging painfully into his thighs. He wraps both arms around him, bracing them around his chest and stomach, so Keith can feel the way his whole body trembles, then goes still; trembles again, then goes still, like electric shocks.

It’s a rare thing, being able to experience Lance’s orgasm while he’s still hard. Usually his boyfriend is insistent on making Keith come (sometimes more than once) before he even _ thinks _ of his own pleasure, but the black paladin likes this selfish fringe on him. He likes feeling him lose control; likes knowing he’s _ so far gone _ on Keith that he gets off despite himself, choking little _ fuck_s and _ ohmygod_s in Keith’s ear that are almost apologetic.

“Come on,” he murmurs, and moves Lance’s hand downward until he gets the picture and wraps it around his cock. “Come on, lover boy, just because you’re paying doesn’t mean you get off easy.”

Lance humps against him again, seemingly involuntarily, groaning open-mouthed like he wants to say something but doesn’t have the wherewithal. He’s still mostly hard, buried inside, and Keith takes the opportunity to rock back against him and forward into his fist; forward and back, forward and back, delighting in Lance’s little over-sensitized gasps, until he’s coming with a slurred curse.

It takes Lance a long time to stop shaking, and longer still to let go of Keith and pull gingerly out of him. He keeps running his palms all over; gripping at a pale hip, and then rubbing over panting abs, and then skating down his arms. “You’re gonna ruin me for all other people, you know that?”

Keith hums. “If I’m lucky.”

* * *

It takes them a full three days to talk about it without devolving into some of the filthiest dirty talk Keith has ever gotten off to, but they eventually manage. The results of their conversation find him sprawled on his bed one evening, phone in his hand, chatting up a storm with “LoverboyLance” on an app he hasn’t opened in years.

**K487**

Enjoying the pics? Worth the 100 tokens?

**LoverboyLance**

wanna see

Keith hadn’t realized until they’d started that he and Lance have almost never communicated through text. It’s been mostly face-to-face or comms since they met, and it feels curiously intimate learning this new way to interact. He finds it equal parts annoying and endearing that Lance seems too eager for proper spelling or punctuation, even more so than usual.

**[Loverboy Lance has sent an image]**

_ This _ part he _ definitely _ finds endearing. Lance’s eagerness shows through in his photos, too. He’s reclined in the picture, shirt rucked up around his armpits and jeans undone, no underwear to be seen. It’s a downward angle; Keith can barely make out his nipples, so he’s left wondering if they’re peaked and reddening, or if Lance has been too impatient for that. He wonders if the pulled up shirt is just for his benefit, so he can more easily see how hard Lance is, jutting out from his jeans, his long fingers braced around the base, holding it up unashamedly for the camera.

**K487**

All that for me?

**LoverboyLance**

ur so fuckin hot

love the one on ur motrcycle

Keith grins. He hadn’t been about to strip down and re-curate his album of nudes, so he’d simply sent Lance what had been in his old, decommissioned profile: a naked, faceless, nineteen-year-old him sprawled in bed, crouching against a desert backdrop, bent over the arm of a rickety couch, spread-eagled on a hovercycle.

**K487**

Careful now Loverboy.

Don’t blow your load too quick.

**LoverboyLance**

y

u have plans for me

**K487**

Want to find out?

50

It’s perhaps more than he’d have asked for back in the day, but he takes hedonistic pleasure in knowing that Lance is probably pulsing in his hand at it, like the dollar amount is a promissory note that what’s to come is going to be worth it and then some.

**[You’ve received 50 tokens from LoverboyLance]**

The photo Keith takes is markedly more controlled than Lance’s. He leans back on his elbows, holds his shirt up with his teeth, spreads his legs _ just so _ and holds his undone fly open so the camera picks up how hard he is beneath his underwear, takes the picture in a strategically placed mirror with his face out of frame. It’s a series of practiced motions he hadn’t realized he’d learned so well, and while it’s mostly Lance’s photo and their whole charade that has him so excited, it’s partially the deliciously debauched muscle memory.

**[K487 has sent an image]**

**LoverboyLance**

fuck

not even gona show me proprly

tease

**K487**

Figured you might want more than a picture when I show you properly.

500 to cam

**[You’ve received 500 tokens from LoverboyLance]**

Keith laughs out loud.

**K487**

Eager, are we?

**LoverboyLance**

fuck ya

Somehow his lack of dirty talk has Keith even more affected. He’d expected Lance to send paragraphs of cheesy text waxing poetic about every sexy thought in his head, but the fact that he’s so into it that he’s practically monosyllabic has Keith setting up his phone camera with a little more fumbling than he might have in years gone by.

**[K487 has sent a request to start a video chat]**

He’s positioned himself carefully so that when Lance accepts the chat, he’s greeted with Keith’s bare chest, his face just cut off where he’s leaned back on his bed, his legs spread so that the fabric of his jeans pulls at his thighs.

Lance is a screen full of cock.

Keith chuckles. “Move back, hot stuff, let me see all of you.”

“Oh.”

There’s some shuffling, a minute of blurred motion and then darkness and then more motion as Lance drops his phone, but then he’s there, totally nude, sitting on his bed, face on display, and _ oh. _ Keith’s forgotten how much of a thrill _ that _ is, when they’re bold enough to show their identity from the get go, no coaxing or promises of secrecy needed. He almost sinks down into frame himself, struck with the desire to show Lance how his own jaw has dropped open, how his eyes can’t stop tracing the twin lines on Lance’s hips curving down to where he’s fully hard against his stomach, foreskin already stretched tight.

He holds back, though.

Lance hasn’t paid for that, yet.

Idly, he reaches one hand down to trace a finger over his own obscene bulge. “You don’t waste time,” he says. “I like that.”

“_Fuck, _ Kei—” Lance catches himself before he slips up completely. “Keep doing that for me.”

“Why don’t you give me some inspiration?”

He remembers the first couple of times he’d done this, the way he’d stumbled and not quite known what to say or when; the way he’d filled in the sweetly tense silences and let the awkward ones run on. He’d caught on quickly enough, and it comes back to him more quickly still. A familiar but long un-indulged sense of control crawls down his spine. He’s desired and he _ knows it _, and he wants to fucking lord it over the person on his screen until they’re both coming undone.

“Yeah?” Lance asks, and wraps a hand shamelessly around himself and pumps shallow and slow, grip tight, so the head drags in and out of his fist, foreskin pulling taut and loosening in sluggish lockstep. “You wanna watch me, too? Wanna see what you do to me?”

It’s a concerted effort to keep his hand where it is, playing idly with his hardness, pulling away when he twitches against his own touch. He wants to pull himself out, to expound on all the ways watching Lance get off to him like this is turning his fucking crank in the best way.

“Fuck, yeah,” he says instead, and lets his voice go all low and raspy, hot in that specific way that would be ridiculous under any other circumstances.

“You like it?”

Keith hums. “I want to show you how much I like it…”

Lance’s legs fall open a little, head tilting back so he can watch the screen from the bottom of his half-lidded eyes, like he’s expecting Keith to do something frivolous like keep going.

“One fifty to see me and my cock, lover boy.”

Lance huffs a light little laugh. “How about a hundred?”

Keith’s hand stills; retreats. “That’s the first and last time you try to haggle, hot stuff,” he says, and it comes back to him in a rush how tricky this can be: keeping the heat in his tone so as not to break the mood while making sure his seriousness is crystal clear. “Either you can afford me or you can’t, my prices are non-negotiable.”

He’s a little worried Lance is going to push it. It seems like something he’d do: try to get a discount based on his charm, just to prove he can. But he’d made Keith _ promise _ he’d treat this like he would any other arrangement, and Lance wouldn’t be the first overly handsome, overly confident boy whose bluff he’d called. He’s left his fair share of deal-seekers on read.

But, if anything, the reminder that this is a _ transaction_—that his entitlement to Keith’s pleasure is based totally on a price point, and that said price point is one that Keith knows for a solid fact is _ accurate_—just makes Lance lean forward heavily on one arm, his other speeding up where he’s still got himself in that near-painful looking grasp. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and it takes him a solid two minutes to get up, grab his phone, send the credits, and reset (all with his cock still in his hand; still held hostage in the cage of those long, dexterous fingers).

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith says, rounding the corners of his approach, sinking back into something that feels less stringent. “I’m still…” He tugs at the top of his underwear; lets just the head of himself peek out and then slip back out of view.

Lance’s breath hitches somewhat wetly. “Please let me see,” he whispers, and there’s such a sense of _ awe _ about it, like he hasn’t seen it dozens of times before.

Then again, he _ hasn’t _ seen it before; not like this. Not untouchable and accessible all at once; not laid out bare for his pleasure while at the same time covered over with a thin sheen of immoral indulgence that makes everything feel new and unexplored. Watching the way Lance sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, just for a second, Keith is struck by a jarring, double-think sort of feeling: he’s watched Lance do that in person, has leaned in afterward to suck that same bottom lip in between his own teeth and taste it for himself; and yet he’s never seen that tantalizing bit of flesh before in his life, and he can’t get enough of the novel way Lance teases at it with his tongue and teeth.

He tucks the elastic waistline of his boxer briefs down below his balls, because he knows the way it frames his cock; the way it forces him a little upward, all bunched together so he looks impetuous and desperate. He rolls himself, fingers firm, but refuses to wrap a hand around his cock properly.

“That’s…” Lance’s swallow is audible on camera. “Fuck, your dick is…”

“I know,” Keith agrees, and delights in the way his boldness makes Lance shudder.

“Cocky,” Lance accuses, but it’s throaty and mostly appreciative.

“So we’ve established.”

“How much for you to get naked?”

Keith can’t help the way he smirks. He rolls his palm a little harder; lets it make his cock jump. “Depends if you want a show of it..”

“No. Just take them off.”

There’s no preamble about it; not even a shake in his voice. He’s serious in a way Keith rarely sees him, like there’s a sniper rifle in his hand instead of his own flesh. He feels watched, _ seen _, in a way he hasn’t felt for years (and another way he’s never felt at all).

“Two hundred.”

Lance makes the transaction in thirty seconds flat.

Keith’s barely traced his fingers past his belly button when Lance cuts in: “Not like that, just take them off.”

Keith freezes, eyebrow raised.

Lance lasts a valiant twelve seconds before he deflates. “_Please_. Just…I _ need _ you to…”

And okay, if Keith is being honest, he _ might _ tug every scrap of fabric from his body a _ little _ faster than he might have before. Sue him. He gets a hold of himself by the time he’s lounging back again, legs carefully positioned so his most private parts are still hidden from the camera.

Because Lance hasn’t paid for that yet.

But he does finally let his left hand curl around his cock; allows himself a gratifying few strokes. At the same time, Lance lets go of himself. He brings one hand up to play thoughtlessly with a nipple while the other fists in is sheets. “I want you to play with yourself. Properly.”

He’s already standing, phone in his hand so the camera is at possibly the most unflattering angle possible (pretty much directly up his nose), by the time Keith considers it and answers, “Five hundred.”

All settled up, Lance sits again and Keith rearranges himself carefully. He rotates ninety degrees so the camera has a view of him from the side, hips tilted a little toward it so Lance has a better view of the way he’s lazily pumping himself from base to tip. He mirrors Lance with his other hand, tweaking at each nipple in turn until they’re stiffening in a way that’s not quite unpleasant.

“I’m not going to make myself come,” he specifies, because it’s what he would have done before. “That’s extra.”

“Okay.”

Fuck, Lance is carelessly breathless. He knows—he _ must _ know—how wanton he sounds; how riveted. He sounds like Keith could flip him the bird and he would drool over it, and he’d keep his hands where they are: nowhere near his cock (because Keith can see, now, how he’s glistening at the tip even despite the lack of contact).

This part comes back to Keith more naturally than anything so far.

He arches his back, at just that angle, so he can feel the sheets bunch, bunch, bunch, release, with a gap beneath the curvature that he knows lets the light in from behind and accentuates the musculature alongside his spine. He pinches at the nipple nearest the lens until it really does hurt; until he’s gasping with the sensation and thrusting up into his own hold. For just a moment, he loses himself to it; to being observed; to being _ gotten off to_. He fantasizes about a stranger’s cock (but it’s Lance’s cock, too, and that makes it so much better) and what he would do with it given just half an hour.

He glances back at the screen, where Lance is watching him in a way that’s vaguely unattractive, in a purely aesthetic sense. It’s like he’s forgotten Keith is watching him at all. His tongue is poked out the side of his mouth, his lips slack at the edges and tight in the middle. He’s balled both his fists on his upper thighs, bracketing the place he’s still refusing to give in and touch again.

Fuck, given _ twenty minutes_.

“What’s your name?”

And Keith spoils himself, just a little. It’s not, strictly speaking, accurate when he gives his real name rather than a fake or a cheeky, 'K487 is fine, but you can call me K for short.' But selfish or not, if Lance is going to be saying anyone’s name in that dismantled tone, it’s going to be Keith’s.

“I want to watch you finger yourself, Keith.”

Keith licks his lips (instinctive) and pulls the bottom one between his teeth for a second (on purpose) before he responds, “Fingers only? Or do you want me to use a toy afterward?”

“Fingers,” Lance says. He approaches the camera and there’s another few seconds of jostling before he’s settling it on what must be his pillow, within arm’s reach. The view is a little tighter, a little skewed, but Keith doesn’t mind. This close, he can make out the exact shade of red Lance’s cock is; can see the drying stains where he’d leaked against his own belly. “I want you to make yourself come with just your fingers.”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“_Fifteen_?”

“Problem?” Keith asks, and rolls his hips up so his cock slides more purposefully through his fist. “It’s worth every token. You can check my reviews.”

“_Fuck_, that’s…you’re _ so _ worth…”

Keith barely gets a glimpse of Lance wrapping a hand around his cock again before he’s leaning in too close, obscuring the view.

**[You’ve received 1500 tokens from Loverboy Lance.]**

“Hey, big spender,” Keith purrs.

Lance lays himself out again. It’s not the greatest angle, his spread legs closest to the screen so Keith is looking up over his cock with his face nearly in the background, but he’s got a grip on himself, looks so fucking _ ludicrously _ hard...Keith couldn’t care less about the angle.

“God, _ please_, just…” Lance’s hand tightens momentarily around his base; releases; strokes hesitantly upward, just halfway, and tightens again. 

“Just what?” Keith sits up; faces the camera properly again and lets his knees fall open just a little. “Come on, you’ve got me all to yourself, bought and paid for. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to—”

“_Tell _ me.”

Lance’s hand starts moving properly, though his hold loosens.

“Open your legs.”

Keith throbs; manages to keep his breathing even; spreads his legs.

“Wider.”

This time, Keith can’t catch his gasp. He leans back and brings his knees up toward his chest. Experienced as he is, he still feels himself blushing at the shameless display; it had been paradoxically easier to do this when it really was a stranger watching. Lance has seen this before, has had his tongue and his fingers and his cock buried in the spot Keith is displaying for him, and yet it feels thoroughly lewd and outrageous to expose himself this way.

His whole fucking body aches with arousal.

“Lube?”

Keith fumbles under the pillow and retrieves a bottle. He’s messy about lubing up his fingers. He makes sure the camera picks up the drops that land on his sheets; the one that runs up his arm. Salaciously, he pours right from the bottle onto his hole, so that it slithers down and drips off onto the floor.

He’s just starting to circle his own rim with his middle finger when Lance cuts in:

“Start with two.”

Out of very sudden necessity, Keith lets go of his cock.

“What, no flirting? Getting straight to the first date?”

“Keith. Fuck yourself on two fingers for me.”

Forget there being no room for argument, there’s not even a square inch left for levity in Lance’s voice.

Keith sinks his index and middle fingers into himself quick enough to hurt, and he goes practically boneless around the intrusion. His head drops back with a moan before he remembers himself and picks it back up so Lance can see the expression on his face. He’s tight around his own fingers, fighting the breach, and he fucks into himself once, twice, just to feel the raw resistance.

“Like that?” he asks, even though he can already read the answer in the way Lance has two hands on himself now, the left fingertips pressing rhythmlessly into the sensitive area right behind his balls.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You want to hear about how good I think you’d fuck me?”

“Keith.” Lance’s fingers dip down over his own hole just once, then go back to that sweet spot just above. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

One pale leg slips off the edge of the bed, and Keith doesn’t bother to pick it up again. He starts up a moderate pace with his fingers, sliding in and out even as it stings, forcing his body open for Lance, searching out that _ spot _ inside himself and battering against it until there’s a line of exquisite tension between his belly button and his Adam's apple. “I’m thinking about what I’d do if I were there. Would you let me suck you off?”

“Add another finger.” It punches a little noise from Keith, right from his solar plexus, but he does it. “I wouldn’t let you suck me off. I’d come too quick.” He pauses. “It wouldn’t be worth the money.”

Keith keens. He fucking _ burns _ around his fingers. He shifts his pelvis so he’s thrusting in at a more severe angle and slides a thumb under his cock to prop it up, so Lance can _ see_. “Slow and dirty, then,” he says. “Maybe I’d wear a plug to meet you. Pull it out and sit on your cock before I even say hello.”

“_Fuck_.”

“I’d be so _ tight_.” The slide of his fingers, if anything, is getting more strenuous. “You look big. But I’d take it for you. I’d take it _ deep _ and ride you _ so fucking slow_. I bet you beg so pretty.”

“Harder.”

God, Lance sounds like he’s run a gauntlet; like even one word is a struggle. Keith can see his left thigh starting to shake, the way it always does when he starts getting close.

He fucks into himself with even less regard. He starts jerking himself off with purpose, a squeeze on every upstroke that has him tensing from his core outward.

“I’d _ use _ your cock. How much could you take before you snap? Would you flip me over? Hold me down and fuck me like a brat?”

“Close,” Lance chokes. “Please tell me you’re getting close, too, I can’t last much longer, you’re so…”

“Fuck yeah, I’m close. You make me want to come so bad, Lance.”

Lance’s leg is shaking so hard it moves the camera. He doesn’t bother fixing the more severe angle, just curls up a little so he can still see properly. “Say my name again.”

Keith centres himself in the frame; plants his heels on the bed and thrusts up into his hand and down onto his fingers at a brutal tempo. “I’m going to come for you, _ Lance_. Would you like that?”

Lance whimpers, and the sound of it layered over the crude sloppy noise of his fist on his cock is what does Keith in. He breathes in; tries to take in more air with a strangled gasp; groans brokenly; shoots right up to his fucking chin. He moans Lance’s name and holds himself up even as his abs start to scream at him; keeps fingering himself ruthlessly even as a cramp clamps down on his palm. He makes sure the light catches his come just right as it drips down his chest.

Lance lasts maybe four more seconds. He takes in the scene with slack eyes and lips, totally enraptured; and then he drops onto his back like it’s too much to do _ anything _ but experience his peak. It’s too much to hold up his own body weight, too much to moan, too much to _ breathe _ . His whole body goes stiff on camera, even the fingers at the base of his cock, and he manages one stupefied, “_Keith_,” before he goes silent and comes over his stomach.

The sound of their echoed panting is tinny through Keith’s shitty phone speakers. He notes absently that he’s down to 22%.

“That was…”

Lance doesn’t elaborate on what it was. He doesn’t even seem to have the faculties to let go of his dick, wrist stuck in a loop of little aborted jerks he doesn’t look fully aware of.

“Money well spent?”

Lance groans, and Keith thinks there might be an ‘_uh-huh_’ in there somewhere.

“Thanks,” Keith says, and leans just out of frame to retrieve a strategically placed towel. He gives himself a cursory rubdown and drops the towel onto the puddle of lube on the floor before it can soak completely into the carpet. “You weren’t bad, yourself. Let me know if you’re ever in the mood to cam again.” He gets up and approaches the camera; makes sure his half-hard cock is front and centre until he’s close enough to slink down and smirk right into the lens. “Or if you’d be interested in anything else. My profile says no hook-ups, but I make the odd exception.”

Lance squints at the camera like he can’t quite make out the screen. Even so, he laughs airily. “I _ am _ exceptional.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Goodnight, lover boy.”

“Wha--”

He closes the chat and switches his status to ‘Do Not Disturb’.

Well, he _ had _ promised Lance he’d treat this like it was real, and he’d never been particularly patient post-orgasm.

Still, he finds himself thrown somewhat off-balance. This has always been the bit where he’d stretch out languorously on his bed and enjoy the very distinct pleasure of not having anyone to accommodate. Now he stretches with a grunt and finds his own noise irritating; wants it drowned out with Lance’s gross noises instead.

His phone buzzes on the bedspread.

**Lance<3 (come on keith dont delete my luv)**

does that count as scene over?

**Lance<3 (come on keith dont delete my luv)**

can i come cuddle you and tell you how amazing that was in person now?

Keith furrows his brow. He types a response, and abandons his phone on the bedside table.

Barely a minute later he’s across the hall, stumbling over the shoes Lance has left in the entryway and having to backtrack halfway to the bedroom to actually lock the door behind him. He finds Lance with one leg in a pair of sweats, the other tangled in the waistband. His phone is locked on the bed beside him, Keith’s unread message alerts still on the screen.

**Keith🖕 (I kept the stupid heart so)**

No.

**Keith🖕 (I kept the stupid heart so)**

I’ll come to you.

**Keith🖕 (I kept the stupid heart so)**

You’re a slowpoke after you come.

Lance smiles at him. “Door-to-door service, huh?”

Keith flips him off, but grins all the same. “Only for you, lover boy.” He climbs into bed using three limbs, refusing to lower his finger until Lance tugs it to his lips and presses a kiss against it. "Only for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Borne partially of the many conversations I’ve had with my partner, where we agreed that we’d totally cam for cash if it wouldn’t ruin both our careers (damned prudish society). We hit like a solid 3 or 4 niches, we could make bank.
> 
> Plus sexually confident Keith just gets me like 👀 👀 👀
> 
> As usual, [Feel free to say hi on Twitter.](https://twitter.com/BefriendingM)


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